


Hush

by bluebells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate universe - Mafia, Dom/sub, Five Acts, Implied Shibari (Japanese bondage), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is the family hit man with a pesky guilt complex. Lucifer's solution is to introduce him to Adam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nights_fang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nights_fang/gifts).



> Written for nights_fang as part of the Five Acts exchange (Dom/sub, shibari, clothed). I regret I was too exhausted when writing this to go further, but that just means we'll need to revisit shibari again in the future. ;)

Michael lets them take his weapon at the front desk. 

If the authorities pulled him aside tonight, they would find the gunshot residue they were looking for. There might even be blood. Where did he leave the silencer?

“We'll take care of this one.” Raphael had said, striding towards that prone form under the bright lights of Singer's restaurant. “Go home.”

There had been witnesses. Raphael was going to take care of it.

Michael was going to be sick. He doesn't realise where his feet lead him until he's handing over his gun at the Roadhouse. He charges to the old man's credit account. He doesn't care after the job he had tonight. They owe him.

They'll give him this.

Adam's eyes light up when Michael arrives at his room in the west wing, but Michael knows he might just be projecting relief.

The door has barely slid shut behind them before Michael falls to his knees. Adam lets Michael bury his face in Adam's stomach and inhale the warm, clean scent of his clothes and the slightest hint of cologne.

Michael is so lucky, he knows he didn't ask and he knows he'll be in trouble. Instead, he feels hands gently card through his hair, and almost trembles.

“It's been a long time,” Adam says gently.

“Yes,” Michael mumbles into his shirt.

“You've been good, then.” Adam's tone lightens with the spread of his smile. “You didn't need me.”

It's a question as much as an inference. Adam is no idiot: Michael has only one reason to be here. His stomach drops away to spill the churning tide of guilt and heat. He feels dizzy. His hands close around Adam's thighs of their own volition to steady himself. 

“I did,” Michael finally strangles out the confession. “I do.”

The hands still in his hair. Adam's fingers curl against his scalp. “I didn't give you permission to touch me.”

Michael's palms feel like they're burning, but he still forces himself to relinquish his hold. He sinks back to kneel on his haunches on the wooden planks. He knows well enough to keep his gaze lowered.

“I'm sorry.”

He knew this moment was coming and he'd spent enough weeks denying how much he needed it.

“Are you?” Adam's hands fists gently, meaningfully in his short hair. It's enough to draw Michael's eyes closed, the hint of a sensory memory gone too soon before he can grasp for it. His mouth waters.

“I'm sorry, Adam.”

He begs it truthfully. Three months after his first job, Michael was having waking nightmares of blood-spattered eyes frozen in horror ( _Why? Why me? Why you?_ ). He thought Lucifer would show him bliss of escape at the pinprick of a needle or between a woman's legs paid by the hour. Instead, Lucifer brought Michael to Adam – Adam who confused Michael with his wide, genuine smile and drew him to sit on his fine mats talking about Michael's family. 

Adam knew everything about the Angelus family. They were a known entity at the Roadhouse for their patronage, spoken of only within its doors. Charles Angelo and his sons were cleaning the streets – at least, they were supposed to be.

“How many did you kill?” Adam's hand slides down the back of Michael's collar, cool fingers stroking the head of the tattoo fanning down his spine: the phoenix forever burning and never reborn. Its immortal struggle was the grotesque mark of their entire family. Michael feels branded and he knows he's damned for a bloody end in a dark, rotting alleyway or behind concrete and steel of the state until one of his neighbours decided to put him out of his misery.

He swallows and shivers. His head is spinning. “Three.”

When Adam touches him, Michael feels like he can be forgiven. Adam sees everything and he can help Michael atone, if he's feeling kind.

Adam's hand curls painfully on his shoulder. “Three?”

Michael nods, head bowed in shame, and wishes Adam would leave bruises. Adam is too professional for that.

Michael struggles to hold the whimper of relief when the rope whispers against his forehead. Its smooth weave slides down his temple and brushes a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

With this touch, suddenly Michael can breathe again.

“I told you to see me after each one,” Adam says, voice cold.

“I'm sorry, Adam.”

Adam barely makes a sound as he slowly circles Michael from the bamboo mats. Michael sighs once Adam slides the suit jacket from his shoulders. Adam finally starts drawing his hands behind his back, the rope winding around his front and over his shirt.

Michael hangs his head gratefully. He can already see – he hopes – where this is going: bracketing his chest, Adam tugging to ensure Michael's elbows are bound tight behind his back before drawing a final length, down, down....

Adam raises a line of the smooth, golden rope for Michael to see. Michael swallows and heat flares in his stomach seeing the large knot tied there. 

“I picked this colour for your eyes.” Adam's whisper breathes hot against the shell of his ear.

Maybe Adam will let Michael kiss him tonight.


End file.
